Sunday, January 31, 2010

As the menu approaches, I motion the negative with open palms, “No no - may I just have a flat white and a plain croissant, please?” The dim light within Il Fornaio sustained the mood created by my morning dawdle along the St Kilda pier, industrial chic morphing into French bakehouse. My mornings, being infused with burnished light, would struggle to embrace braised ox-cheek on parsnip mash. Just keep it minimalist.

Tearing the swirl of pastry and extracting its steaming insides, my nose twitches to the aroma of brewed coffee, my ears prick to the rustle of newspapers, and the soft murmurs of couplings, the morning after. Folding the broadsheet into the convenience of a tabloid, I scan the pages for snippets to tease my imagination. Failing, I replace the crumpled paper, glaze my eyes so they cannot be seen seeing, and take in life through other uncommonly aroused senses.

Riff, (n.) (v.)

2011

During 2011, I will post less frequently but, hopefully, 3x per week. Each post will be about 500 words. There will be an image, with the link being just as tenuous as it was during 2010. These will be atmospheric character studies. Read on to see what I mean. I will read extensivly Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Munro and Enright to begin with.

2010

A riff is an improvisation upon a theme. The aim of this blog is to post each of the 365 days of 2010. Each post is to consist of an image I have created, plus text which is the riff. This text is to be 150 words in length, no more no less. Mere descripton a reader can see for themself.